Seamless: Jazz in the Flow

JONATHAN ROWDEN GROUP
 @ THE BLUE WHALE 09/14/14

Midway into the first set, breathless and somewhat exhausted, you realize the boundaries are gone: the music is flowing from piece to piece to piece. Quite simply it is unstoppable. 
The musicians can handle it; can you?

 The typical transitions of a jazz set --- instruments ebb, audience applauds --- have been supplanted by chords and progressions, echoes and ingenuity. The result is a compelling tapestry of sound that constantly surprises you.

We've heard the Rowden group before --- talented musicians all --- but we've never heard them sound like this; are they joined at the hip? It's clear these four creators (plus friends in Set Two) have practiced and rehearsed, composed and arranged, edited and refined, improvised and rejoiced. Their work is seamless.

The Rowden Group's first CD "Becoming" is worth tracking down on the web or elsewhere. How long has it been since the phrase 'original music' actually meant originality in composition, structure, tempo and phrasing? This is original stuff.

Kudos to Jon Rowden for celebrating his 30th birthday with a gift to all of us. The musicians were having so much fun it may have been illegal. The audience, many of whom were experienced musicians themselves, tapped and pounded, punctuating the small club with exuberance and wonder.

The Jonathan Rowden Group plays selected venues in the L.A. metro: Catch them if you can.

Kissing My Father

           About a decade ago I started kissing my dad on the cheek when I told him goodbye.

It was awkward at first; I usually only kiss men when I’m in Europe.

 

            By the time I began these public displays of affection my father was 74 and frail, a gaunt shadow of his former 6’3”, 220-pound self. A combination of early Parkinson’s, early Alzheimer’s, and TIA (mini-strokes) were taking their toll. And it didn’t help when at about age 60, Dad was struck by a car in a Wendy’s parking lot, thrown up over the hood, and had to be re-built with metal and bionics. For several years afterward one of Dad’s legs was 6 inches shorter than the other: He had to learn to walk all over again.

            So when he was 74, and I was leaving Kansas to go home to California, I bent over one day and kissed my dad goodbye. I think we were both startled by my sudden and non-planned emotion. But Dad smiled and I realized that next time, if I could work up the courage, maybe I would kiss him goodbye on purpose.

            I did so, and it gradually became a pattern. Any time I was leaving my dad --- walking away from his hospital room or living room, I would bend over and kiss him on the cheek. Dad would smile and sometimes reach out to give me a hug.

            At age 81 Dad lost the love of his life, his wife of 60 years. In her absence I took up the duties of practical nurse, home health aide, housecleaner, doer of laundry and other chores. Dad was suddenly living solo, but didn’t have the ability to clean up, fix up, pick up, or sometimes even get up. So my wife and I stepped into the gap and I began seeing my dad twice a week at a minimum, even though he lived five hours away.

            Dad survived my non-professional care for a year, after which his medical team strongly advised finding a skilled nursing facility, not relying on a temp worker from several hundred miles away. We shopped Dad around to assisted living communities, both in our city and his, but none could handle the degree of care Dad needed on a constant basis. All of them agreed with Dad’s doctors: “Skilled nursing.” 

            These days Dad’s basic needs are supplied by people with professional training. They feed him and bathe him. They keep both Dad and his surroundings hygienic. They dress him and help him stand or sit or move. In short, they do everything I did for that first year after Mom left us --- except they do it professionally. I was a rank amateur.

            About the only thing they don’t do these days is kiss my dad on the cheek. That is still my signature custom. Dad expects it and looks forward to it and Dad smiles, even when he can’t form a word. This week, spending four of the past seven days at Dad’s side, I’ve had quite a few chances to kiss him goodbye when leaving his room. I don’t say it, and I try not to think it --- but any of these kisses could be the last.

            I kiss him; Dad smiles. I give Dad some verbal proclamations also but somehow the kisses seem to reach Dad at a deeper level. He watches me lean over and he turns his cheek, ever so slightly, getting ready to receive my goodbye. I kiss him, and then say “I love you, Dad” and he lights up from the inside.  

            Dad’s 300-watt smile is down to a mere candle glow these days, but watching him light up reminds me that kissing your dad can be a good thing, even if it feels a bit uncomfortable the first few times you try it.

            I love you, Dad.

Marilyn: A Life in Focus

Mom was ready for a better place. One by one we each filed in, said our final goodbyes, and told Mom we loved her. With the meds dialed back she was able to quietly but clearly tell us she loved us. Her time was short; she was ready to go home.

We gathered around her at Olathe Medical Center, a small circle of family and friends, aware of the sacredness of these moments. We prayed, we conversed, we waited. We laughed occasionally, sharing a favorite memory. We listened for the rhythms of Mom’s breathing, noticing the beeps and buzzes of the medical equipment. Occasionally Mom would pause a bit between breaths: Was she gone?

Then she was escorted from us, borne upward on unseen wings, quietly and gently lifted from this planet to a better space. Her departure was simple and natural; she was not alone as she left us.

One year later we remember her, more aware than ever of Mom’s love, her life, and her witness. We watch as the choir files in at her favorite church, waiting to see the tall soprano on the left. We listen to a stirring anthem or a favorite hymn, and instinctively we glance around to see the blessing and enjoyment on Mom’s face.

We hear a note or two of music, played perhaps on a keyboard, and we picture Mom at the piano bench, entertaining us with her own arrangement of a classical favorite. We smell something baking, and we wander into Mom’s kitchen, half expecting to find her there. So many happy memories.

Mom’s life had clarity and purpose, focused clearly on the eternal truths. There is no way to remember her without looking up, beyond the chaos and the misfortune of daily life, toward a higher calling and a greater love. With consistency and integrity Mom lived a life of faith and virtue, showing us the way to eternal peace.

One year later her life is no less true, no less virtuous. Out beyond the limits of pain and loss -- in a place where there is no suffering and there are no tears -- Mom walks beside still waters, thinking of us. There can be no doubt of Mom’s prayers and her intentions: That we, each in our own time, will go to be where she is. Mom’s life and her example are still pointing us in the same direction. Her life and her example show us the Only Son of our Heavenly Father, who as an act of love stretches out His arms to invite us home.

Creating Moments and Memories --- While You Can

To celebrate their 50^th wedding anniversary we flew them to Canada, First Class. We met them at the Calgary airport as they arrived, helping them navigate Customs and collect their luggage. Then we escorted them on a week-long tour of the Canadian Rockies, all expenses paid.

They were 73 and 71 years young at the time, still vital enough to enjoy the journey. Dad had been injured a few years earlier in a hit-and-run; his replacement joints and sockets couldn’t manage long bursts of hiking. Mom’s arthritis hindered her a bit too. We did a lot of our traveling by car, with short strolls to scenic vistas. With a bit of encouragement from us they rode a tramway to the top of a Banff peak, thrilling to the sights below.

It was the trip of a lifetime for both of them; they talked about it for more than a decade until Mom’s sudden passing. Mom died two months ago today; it still seems surreal. We spent those last difficult days and weeks in hospital rooms and rehab centers, running errands for the two of them and doing anything possible to make things more manageable and serene.

Looking back --- we recognize the value of doing things for those you love --- while you can. We saved for most of a year to pull off the anniversary trip. Used some hotel points and some airline miles, then blazed through a stack of carefully hoarded cash. But regardless of our total expenses, the value of the trip was “priceless.” We knew it then; we are even more certain of it today.

Mom’s in heaven now. We assume her eternal surroundings look pretty much like the Canadian Rockies. We’ve seen much of the world so far --- 42 nations and counting --- and we’ve witnessed a lot of beauty.  Switzerland, Austria and many other places are awe-inspiring. But for sheer scenic beauty it’s hard to top the vistas along the Bow Valley Parkway through Canada’s Rocky Mountains.

Here’s a pic of Mom and Dad, one of our favorite photos of them. They’re standing on a bridge in Waterton Lakes National Park in Canada. They’re happy, relaxed --- going places they’ve never gone, seeing things they’ve never seen. We sacrificed a lot to make it possible for them; we would do it again in a heartbeat.

Who do you love, and how might you choose to express what you feel? The journey of life is fragile and quickly over; this present life is comes down to intentionality and setting priorities. Do what you can, while you can.  Tomorrow is uncertain; the only thing you own for certain is today.

Teaching My Dad to Shave

            Forty years ago, give or take a whisker, my father taught me how to shave. We stood at the big sink in the hall bath, both of our razors at the ready. My dad, a vintage straight-blade man, showed me how to hold the handle at an angle, how to glide across my face instead of slicing. His hands steady, Dad was the very picture of confidence.

            Me, not so much. I had waited so long for this moment, only to discover that I was clumsy with a razor. I was introduced to the styptic pencil, a painful invention that somehow worked miracles despite the sting. I learned how to tear off the smallest piece of tissue, loft it onto a fresh wound, and wait for the blood to congeal behind it.

            I sliced and diced a lot, but eventually I learned how to shave. Mostly I wondered why I had wasted so much time looking forward to this ritual. For what? So I could carve open a fresh wound, sting myself with a wax pencil, then go off on my date with a scar?

            Shaving is so overrated.

            All of those memories came flooding back on Wednesday morning as I stepped into my father’s small apartment in suburban Kansas City. It’s a tidy place every Sunday evening, after my wife and I have finished the laundry, washed the dishes, and picked up the week’s mess. Then we kiss dad goodbye, shut the door, and the apartment swiftly reverts to its normal chaos.

            Wednesday, as we made our regular midweek appearance, Dad greeted us at the door unshaven. Paul Newman’s eyes with white wisps of beard clinging to his shaggy chin. “Dad,” I chided him gently, “maybe it’s time for a shave.”

            Expecting to find him this way, I was carrying a new shaver mixed in with the week’s groceries --- an electric appliance hidden among the hot dogs and Easy Mac. “Dad,” I told him, “I think maybe shaving would be easier with this.” I pulled the shaver out of its plastic cocoon and set it down on the table beside him.

            Dad picked it up, admiring its heft and design. “This is a Norelco,” Dad beamed, “I can tell by the three heads.” He bounced it back and forth in his hands a bit, smiling.

            A few wobbly steps on the worn carpet and there we stood, in the hall bath of his seniors-only apartment. I plugged in the new shaver and showed Dad how to work the pop-out trimmer on the side. “Use this on the longer stuff,” I advised him. “Then when you’re down to just the stubble, let those three heads do the work.”

            Dad grinned at that, and I saw my youthful self in his face. Tentative, maybe a little uncertain, but happy to be learning a new ritual. We were back in our usual places, but this time our roles had switched up a little.

This time I was the confident one, calmly playing the part of teacher and mentor.  I showed Dad a few tricks of the electric shaving trade, then wisely got out of his way. Dad is a man --- older and slower but no less a man than he’s ever been. He takes direction well, but he’ll want to figure this stuff out on his own. That’s what we men do.

That’s what I did, all those years ago, and it’s worked out pretty well overall. We men study and learn, but after a point we end up figuring things out on our own, by trial and error, by stupidity and repetition, by consequences and outcomes.

Dad will be a pro with his new razor soon, I have no doubt.

He’ll find some unshaven guy, somewhere down there on the second floor, and Dad will tell the guy he really ought to get a Norelco. And before the guy can even defend himself, Dad will be telling him exactly how the thing works, step by step.

Calm and confident, Dad will use his natural gifts as a teacher.

A mentor’s work is never done.

A Faithful Servant Goes Home

Standing along the shore of a beautiful Wisconsin lake on a perfect fall day, I smile at the groom as both of us wait for the bride to descend to the grassy lawn. All eyes turn in the same direction --- atop a long wooden flight of stairs, a bride will appear --- radiant and beautiful on her special day.

She won't be alone when we see her. On her arm will be the dad who has raised her, the Godly man who has been an example to this bride, and to all of us --- devoted husband, loving father, loyal churchman, mission-minded believer. We are eager to see the bride today, but we also want to watch her father beam with evident pride.

We've rehearsed all this on the day before, and it went well --- more casual, a little more

laughter, a few pranks. Today is

the wedding and even the littlest cousins are on their best behavior. There's room for good humor, but also room for respect. We are counting our blessings as we unite Hunter and Meghan in happy and lasting union. Even the weather cooperates; answered prayers.

Two loving family circles and a great group of supportive friends have gathered here for a wedding celebration. This is a time for joy.

In those first few moments after learning that Paul Dennis was gone, God took our thoughts to the weddings ---- Jeremy's wedding, Meghan's wedding. Lisa and I were praying for Lori and Jeremy and Meghan --- and almost instantly, God brought the two weddings into our thoughts and prayers. Right there in our grief, not fully understanding what was happening, we stopped and just thanked God that Paul lived to see both of his children grow into adulthood, marry wisely, and form families of their own.

So many brides walk down the aisle alone, never having known the love of a father. So many grooms grow up without a Godly male example to respect and follow. Meghan and Jeremy grew up with a warm and wonderful dad who loved God, loved his wife, loved his kids, and loved helping others --- at home or far away. Paul Dennis showed us what Godly manhood looks like --- humility, service to others, faithfulness to marriage and family, compassion for those in need.

Paul has gone home. It seems too soon, too early --- Paul seems too young. We must trust the timing of our Heavenly Father even though we don't understand the why and the when. As for the where --- well, that was Paul. He served on so many trips to so many places --- always showing up, always helping, always caring, always giving, always loving --- it seems natural for him to go home while serving and helping in a faraway land. Those trips defined his life among us.

Paul has crossed the finish line. He lived to see his kids grown and married; he lived to share his son, give away his daughter, and welcome two new adults into the family circle. He saw a lot, gave a lot, lived a lot --- and now he's gone home.

He leaves a legacy that all of us will respect and remember. And there is no doubt that Paul crossed the finish line and was welcomed into the arms of a loving Heavenly Father. There is no doubt that Paul heard, as he entered his heart's true home: "Well done, good and faithful servant."

Soul Mates & Sopaipillas

A mellow evening welcomes us as the sun sets slowly over the Sandia Mountains. We're winding our way through Old Town Albuquerque toward one of our favorite restaurants, Monica's El Portal. We're in search of some delicious oxymoronic food: Old New Mexican.

The byway is busy with peds like us: The chatter of children is everywhere, mostly in Spanish. We window-shop --- pottery and beads, turquoise and silver, images and icons. Hand-crafted by artisans and reasonably priced; our slender sales resistance weakens and wanes. Eventually we reach Monica's, seat ourselves by a window with lace curtains, and wait for our first basket of fresh chips. You can have any salsa you'd like, as long as it's Monica's. It's hot, about an 8 on a fire scale of 10, yet you can still taste the delicate edge of cilantro.

We nosh on chips and salsa (complementary), carne adovado (a house specialty), frijoles refritos (crispy out, soft in), and sopaipillas (five of them, all complementary, perched next to a squeeze bottle of honey). Our total indulgence, including tip, will run about $20 this evening. We'll be sated and stuffed as we wander back through Old Town after dinner.

Soul-mates. That's what we are this evening, as a perfect fall day in New Mexico yields gradually to the risen moon. Sharply outlined peaks tower over us. The chatter of children has moved indoors, now joined by the clink of dinner dishes. We are lazy and well-fed with no schedule to keep, thirty years together and much in love. Why did we approach our grandparenting years before figuring out life/work balance? Are we slow learners?

We have another book releasing soon, "The Soul-Mate Marriage," and we'll be busy promoting it, traveling to speak and work, but that is for another day. Tonight we are merely soul-mates, not authors or speakers. Tonight we are full up on sopaipillas, carbed out on comfort food and feelin' no pain. Nondescript and anonymous, we are just two more tourists here.

But tonight, if we could be anywhere on earth, it would be just down the street from Monica's El Portal, talking softly and walking side-by-side through Old Town. We linger, savor, sample, stop, celebrate. Far up above --- la luna, semi-circular and self-satisfied, whispers to us and we can almost hear it.

Goodnight, moon.

(This encore edition post originally published in October, 2008.)

400 Weddings & My Funeral

After I die, someone will discover among my personal effects this item: a small wooden plaque with a brass plate. The plaque congratulates “Dave & Lisa Frisbie” for exploring all 65 Minnesota State Parks. My wife and I earned that plaque over a ten year time span from 1990 to 2000, purchasing a passport from the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, then having that passport stamped and validated as we camped and hiked our way through Minnesota’s state park system.

We loved that process, and along the way we earned patches, badges and I believe also a baseball cap. The culmination (if you explored every single state park) was the aforementioned plaque. That plaque doesn’t matter to any living persons except Lisa and I --- for us, it has a value that is beyond priceless. Instantly, that little plaque reminds us of our lakeside campsite at Father Hennepin, our hikes along the shores of Lake Superior, and an early August snowfall as we tent-camped near Fergus Falls. That little wooden plaque on the wall holds a decade of happy memories for us: We love camping!

The plaque represents a milestone in our lives together. In much the same way, we celebrated a major milestone recently as I performed my 400^th wedding. Far from being “just a number” every wedding I’ve shared in has been designed as uniquely personal, about the bride and the groom, never a generic or standard service. Each wedding has been personalized and meaningful --- at least to us! And for us, reaching 400 weddings is a milestone we treasure.

The bride in this milestone was Abigail Stranz, radiant and beautiful on the day of her wedding. (See photo above left.) I had the privilege of preaching the wedding of Abigail’s parents, Barry and Pam, back in 1983. At that time I was not yet ordained and could not yet legally sign a marriage license. But apparently Barry and Pam thought I could preach: they asked me to do so. They sang to each other, someone else signed the license, and I crafted the best sermon I could think of (literally).

This I did again for Wedding Number 400 --- and every wedding I’ve ever done. I’m sure there are busy little wedding chapels in Las Vegas that do 400 weddings on a summer weekend --- but for me, it’s taken a lifetime of learning and sharing, listening and counseling, speaking and teaching. And although I can’t claim to remember every single detail of every wedding experience, I certainly remember the brides and the grooms and the parents and the relatives and many of the friends. People matter.

Since weddings tend to involve people, weddings end up mattering too. I loved doing Wedding # 400 and the next few are already getting scheduled. If I die before Wedding Number 401, no worries. You can make me a little plaque for my gravesite which reads “He performed 400 weddings” and no one will read it or care, but thank you anyway. Or if you prefer, you can put the following on my tombstone, after you cremate my remains. You can just put “He was my friend.” It will be a true statement.

Season's End: The Promise of New Beginnings

Winter whispers in the late summer wind, even in Southern California. The cool breeze chases teens into hoodies, adults into jackets, swimmers into street clothes. Summer is winding down; we are moving toward a season's end.

Farewell whispers in the late Sunday afternoon, even on Mission Bay. Nostalgia chases teens into chatter, adults into cherished memories, parents into quiet tears. Child-raising is winding down; we are moving toward a season's end.

Frank brings barbecue and waits patiently for a new heart. Melvin brings a devotional message, reminding us all that better days are ahead. Sam mixes bass and percussion while he sings and strums, solos and syncopates. Pat mixes with her guests, orchestrates a sumptuous feast, and charms us all.

Analicia -- she of the soon departure -- is at the center of it. Such a rare vocal talent. The same crystal quality of voice that graces Norah Jones, Sara Groves, or Corinne Bailey Rae. Fluid and resonant and ever more confident, relaxed into the rhythms of her father's smooth and professional arrangements.

Analicia -- she of the plays and musicals -- is at the center of it. Such an accomplished actress. Capable of stealing the show or nailing a supporting role. She moves on to Westmont to pursue drama and music; the Designer's good purposes are evident in her.

A season is winding down but for now: What a concert! Passers-by -- arrested by the voice and the confidence and the grace and the band -- stop and listen, frozen on the spot. Strollers wheel to a stop. Conversations cease. The dog can be walked later. Crown Point is not often a venue for concerts of this caliber.

We gather as friends and family, neighbors and supporters, an intergenerational and multicultural mix of people that feels more like heaven than earth. Smiles and songs, beans and rice, hot links and cold drinks. Those who were strangers five minutes ago are connecting at a deep heart level. Children run in and out, laughing out loud.

Gradually the sun arcs lower; the wind's whisper seems more insistent. Across the park, the bay sparkles quietly. For Sam and Pat, a labor of love is ending -- their work of raising Analicia is nearly done. Now comes a new season -- an empty nest, visits to campus, a transition from parents to mentors to friends.

These two will make the adjustments with wisdom and strength. Over time they will realize a central truth: They have raised their daughter well. Her talent, her gifts, her heart for God, her heart for others --- these and other qualities were nourished and nurtured and taught and transmitted by two people whose work may be mostly done, but whose influence will endure and thrive.

To Sam and Pat: Well done. To Analicia: We love you and we are proud of you! May your future pathways be illuminated by God's light, God's love, God's truth, God's purposes. The way ahead may seem unknown --- but when you get to the future, you'll find that God is already there.

A Great Morning: Right from the Start

Deep into a summer book tour for "Right from the Start," we awaken in the Midwest, only 2 blocks from a Chick-Fil-A. Rising early, we stroll to our favorite breakfast locale.

We recite our usual orders while the cashier peers at us, scanning us closely. This is unusual: We're a romantic, low-key couple, generally considered non-threatening.

With our order taken, the counter person looks at us and shyly poses a question: "Um....aren't you the Frisbies?"

Busted! Only one of us (cute, female) has showered and dressed for this occasion. The other one (male, taller) has been writing for several hours early this morning. He has not yet showered, not yet shaved, and had no intention of "going out in public." Just walking a few blocks to a remote Chick-Fil-A in the random Midwest.

The cashier awaits our response.

Lisa smiles brightly: "Yes, we are!"

"I knew it!" the cashier beams. She goes on to tell us about a book-signing we did in this city, two years earlier, at a Mardel store. She tells us which book she purchased and she explains how God is using the book to change her life. It's clear that she has interacted with the book's content: She quotes it (us) accurately.

We stand across the counter, amazed by God and His good work. We have no immediate response to this conversation, just shock and awe.

Then the cashier, who is also a manager, smiles and comps our breakfast.

There is pretty much nothing in the world that is better than a Chick-Fil-A breakfast burrito (chicken). Except maybe a breakfast burrito that is free!

Better still: The joy of encountering a reader -- someone whose life is being impacted by God-breathed words that an author or artist helped to create. A reader who took the time to attend a book-signing, took home a book, and then began to read it with an open heart and an inquiring mind.

Two authors begin a random day in the midwest.

God shows up.

"Hi David & Lisa," God seems to say to us.

"Today, breakfast is on Me..."

The 4-Dollar Banquet: Love Within Limits

Do you love her more if you spend $2 million on the bling, or if you drop a quarter in the machine next to the gumballs, and the ring is plastic? Which says “I love you” the loudest?

See – you already know this.

Today is Over-Hyped Day, a holiday that screams “spend money and prove your love.” Perfect day to be rich, so that your emotions really count. As if.

So if you love like Rodeo Drive, but live like the Taco Bell value menu -- a few tips for today, gentlemen:

1) The $4 banquet. This works at Panera Bread, but you can improvise at Caribou or Starbucks or that great little no-name coffee place you both love. Here’s the menu: Two (2) muffies (sliced-off muffin tops), Two (2) waters (not artesian or artisan, just agua), One (1) coffee to share, and a table by the fireplace or over there in the corner. Limited PDA is way okay, but please save the fireworks for after you get a room.

2) The $2 truffle. Many women love chocolate, but don’t want to wear an entire box on their hips or waistline. A single indulgence is better. Most malls have a vendor that will sell you an amazing chocolate truffle (so many flavors, so many choices!) for around $2. Look for a candy store or a chocolate factory and if truffles don’t do it, why not a cupcake? They’re everywhere.

3) The free foot rub. Choose your moment, and rub it like you mean it. Chill dude, and let her decide whether it’s foreplay or not. Not everything has to be foreplay, unless you want even more diaper bags around the house? Besides, the best foreplay pays off days later, not just right this minute. Romance is a marathon, not a sprint.

People who spend large sums of money are often over-compensating for something. Or maybe they’re just stinking rich, God bless them.

If you’ve just had an amazing year, income-wise, and you want to bling her out --- please do. But if you’re between opportunities or currently under-employed, no worries. Get off the computer and answer the real call of duty, okay?

Elevator Music

Both of us grew up in musical homes, surrounded by classical masterpieces, timeless hymns and occasional bursts of jazz. Both of us learned the value of music at an early age -- thanks to parents who enrolled us in weekly piano lessons without our consent! :)

Today music is essential to our life together -- woven tightly into fabric of our daily lives. Right now we're listening to James Taylor and Carole King, in their recent concert at the Troubadour up in Los Angeles, from the CD/DVD combo of the concert. These two make beautiful music together! We're lovin' it.

Meanwhile, here are three valuable music lessons for today:

1) Elevate Your Mood. Music is a powerful mood enhancer, no drugs required. Try a little music therapy the next time you're struggling with seasonal affective disorder (or you're just plain tired of winter). Good music makes life better!

2) Elevate Your Game. Whatever you want to do well --- practice constantly. There is no substitute for practice! Great reputations do not win football games, bring a Carnegie Hall audience to its feet, or sell more books. What succeeds is greatness itself --- and to become great, there is only one pathway. More practice.

3) Elevate Your Friends. Sorry to post you this memo, but life is not about you. All around you today are people who could use a word of encouragement, a short but amusing text message, or an actual phone call. (Tech note: Some cell phones are equipped with voice features. Ask your carrier.) Life is better when you share the journey with others -- focus on serving and helping someone today.

The Seasons of a Great Marriage

The youngest couple we've met was married almost 70 years. Only death separated them, and then not for long. They're in heaven now, most likely driving a classic car to the malt shop for yet another date night!

These two loved each other and everyone within their GPS area knew about it. Their love was genuine and authentic, fresh and real. You could listen forever and never hear either of them complain about or criticize their life partner. However, you could hear them compliment each other all day long! They never ran out of positive, encouraging things to say about each other.

Well into their 80's and still young in every way, they celebrated their wedding anniversary by going to Alaska. They stayed in a fabulous hotel in Anchorage, charming the staff and other guests with their infectious good humor and deeply romantic relationship. When the hotel found out that it was their 67th wedding anniversary, the General Manager decided to comp their entire stay.

Ray and Wilma Bridges were exceptional people, but the pattern they left behind can be followed by any married couple. Love each other well, speak positively about each other always, keep having new adventures, keep learning new things. This couple never slowed down and never stopped: Death had to catch them on the run! And as believers already realize, even death is temporary.

Autumn is a great season to get outdoors, spend some time together, go on a hike. You don't have to spend money (and who has any?) all you need is the desire to be together and a place to get away. Trample around in a pumpkin patch or wander through an apple orchard. Take a horseback ride or let a tractor pull you on an old-fashioned hayride. Have it your way --- but get it done.

Be the kind of couple that would make Ray & Wilma smile if they saw you....

Sunday @ Steamers

Steamers Jazz Club is a Fullerton fixture and a staple of the SoCal jazz scene. Today it fills to overflowing; the crowd spills out into the sidewalks and onto the streets. Busy servers fill plates with appetizers and take orders from new arrivals.

Daniel St. Marseille is here to perform -- he's in this place often; he proposed to his wife here a decade or more ago. Today is ostensibly a graduate-level recital for a Cal State Fullerton degree, so Dan has gathered the masters, young and old, for an afternoon of sublime sound and good-natured competition.

A half-dozen pieces, three of them composed by St. Marseille, fill a bustling club with inspired improv: keyboard battles trombone, guitar mocks piano, soprano sax mixes it up with everyone. Tom Hynes on guitar nearly steals the show in the final number; yet every other musician matches his level of excellence, each on his own instrument. Today, Hynes is on fire: He is absolutely ablaze.

For this listener (and from an informal survey of surrounding tables) the sentimental favorite today is "Emily" -- a Johnny Mandel tune sung by Julie Andrews in the title role of 1964's "The Americanization of Emily." Since then Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett have made it their own, but today it belongs entirely to a lone saxophonist, standing center stage and waving off the band for a bluesy, soulful solo. Not that we don't love improv --- such creative noise, and so much of it! --- but in "Emily" we find today's center (and we can usually locate the melody line too).

The band beautifully deconstructs "Speak Low" early in the set. A Kurt Weill piece composed for musical theater, the song has been covered by almost everyone. Today the original is systematically taken apart, then joyously reassembled in several new ways, by a sax teacher and graduate student, together with his hand-picked cohorts -- each at the top of his (sorry gals, the musicians were male today) game.

A word about these cohorts: The aforementioned Hynes kicks the walls out on guitar. Both Chris Dawson and Ryan Pryor dispense sheer excellence via the keyboard, each in an entirely different form. Pryor is simple, soulful, sardonic --- Dawson swings samba and riffs majestically on 3-piece combo interludes. Roger Shew lays down the bass with masterful authority: Is he the best bass in SoCal? Today's performance argues yes. Joey Sellers takes a trombone where it hasn't gone before (through the roof) and brings the house down in the process. Thomas White caresses the percussion with meticulous consistency: the epitome of cool. And on the final number, Jonathan Rowden riffs an impressive alto sax line as Maestro St. Marseille opts for soprano. The full band, in full voice, closes out "Ka Leo" (a St. Marseille composition) with a playful freedom that displays not only great confidence, but also much purity of form. Yet today, in the final analysis, belongs to the man who gathers all these talents together in one place, for one purpose, then directs their genius into full view. That man, noticeably more relaxed after each amazing piece concludes well, is Dan St. Marseille.

Mr. St. Marseille, you have graduated. You earned a PhD. from this listener and from each of the six or seven tables in every direction nearby. Don the robe and square off the cap: You're the new master!

Keep track of what's happening in this busy jazz venue (http://www.steamersjazz.com/) and keep an eye on the future of composer and musician Dan St. Marseille, plus a rising sax star in Jonathan Rowden, and each other member of today's crew. Live musical performance, much like sessions in the recording studio, is a continuous mix-and-match of players and skills, friends and cohorts, instruments and genres. Today St. Marseilles shows us inventive compositions, impressive arrangements, and bulletproof skills on the sax. All that, plus a knack for surrounding himself with first-rate talent. Sheer genius, and an afternoon well spent.

I Am Dying Like An Angel....

Exactly one century ago today, Macedonia gave our tired little globe one of its greater gifts. In the village of Skopje, two Albanian parents celebrated the birth of Agnes Gonxha Bojakhiu. How could they have known that this tiny baby would one day become a venerated nun, a helper to many, an example to all...

Today is the 100th anniversary of Mother Teresa's birth. Working at first by herself, then with the help of dedicated others, Mother Teresa began relentlessly caring for "the least of these" --- those who were dying in the back alleys of urban Calcutta. She opened a hospice unit, called Pure Heart, and simply cared for those who were dying, alone and forgotten, too poor to receive help.

One dying man, resting in the arms of this beloved nun, famously told her "I have lived like an animal, but now I am dying like an angel..." His experience was shared by thousands of others who were treated with dignity, receiving genuine love from caregivers motivated only by a desire to serve Christ.

In the name of religion, many mistakes have been made in the past. We can be certain that more mistakes are ahead in the future. Yet set against the backdrop of greed, politics, legalism, self-righteousness --- and other sins of religion --- at times one encounters the true life of faith, being lived simply and honorably.

Mother Teresa's life reminds us of this. Parents giving birth today, 100 years later, may hope their daughter grows up to become a CEO, or their son an electrical engineer. These are noble aspirations to be sure. But what if a parent, cradling a newborn on this day, simply breathed the hope that this new son or daughter would grow up to emulate Mother Teresa, who herself emulated Christ by taking up the basin and the towel, and serving others....

In Loving Memory: Thomas R. Perry

When a man of integrity passes, his life is celebrated by those who were inspired, mentored and blessed by his example.

Thomas R. Perry of Smithville, Missouri was such a man. All who knew him were immediately aware of his faith in God and his love for his family. Tom's faith and love were authentic and genuine: this man was not fake or phony or fraudulent: He was real.

Tom's passion for aviation led to a long career as an instrument mechanic for Trans World Airlines (later American). His collection of transportation memorabilia led him to found the TWA Museum in Kansas City, where artifacts from flight history are on display.

He was buried with full military honors near his farm in Smithville. Tom served his country during the Korean conflict and was a strong supporter of military families and all those who sacrifice for the cause of freedom.

In the photo at left, Tom is making a batch of his world-famous chili, a staple at family gatherings for three generations. He was quick to laugh, always ready with a story. Tom was noted for finding a new gadget or buying a perfect gag gift for friends.

Tom Perry saw the best in people; consequently he brought out the best in all those who knew him. He is survived by wife Kathleen, three adult children and their spouses, and nine beloved grandchildren. In addition his extended family and his friends remember him with fondness.

All of us who knew Tom are permanently impacted by his life. His faith in God and his love for family remain as a shining example, set before us to lead us in the right directions.