Tribute to Evelyn

What follows is a celebration of our mother’s life, for I’ve met few people who loved life as much as she did … few people who laughed as hard as she could or cried as freely as she could … whose eyes could spark with anger but then light up with love and forgiveness the way hers could … few people who had such passion for the things she loved … and few who could so clearly, clearly express her distaste for that which she did NOT necessarily love.

A friend from high school wrote to me and said that she’d earned the title of “mom.” That is such a nice way of putting it. She may have had fantasies of being the next Ella Fitzgerald, or the next Emily Dickenson, but nobody can say those weren’t noble fantasies. They brought joy to our lives. She managed to keep them in perspective, because she never lost sight of who she was when it really counted. She was “Mom” to Jayne and I and our spouses … and “Mum” to Andrew and Lesley. How could you be anything other than grateful for that?

Our mother gave us a lot of gifts … and to me, the biggest was a lifelong love of music and poetry. There was always music playing in our house, whether she was playing it on the piano or it was on record player. Some of my earliest memories were listening to her records of the Platters singing “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” and “Twilight Time,” and I’m happy to say that both songs are in my iTunes library.

Evelyn made Christmas special. And one of the reasons she did was her love for an album of carols done instrumentally by the Percy Faith orchestra. They were beautiful, symphonic arrangements and I used to just sit and listen to them for hours. I know that the next time I hear “Silent Night” I’m going to have a tough time.

Evelyn was always up for a good joke, though. One day, she brought home a record by Paul Weston and Jo Stafford called “Jonathan and Darlene Edwards in Paris.” She put it on the turntable, and out came these horrendously out-of-key songs about Paris and France. It was an act, of course, but it was HORRIBLE. Think of someone scratching a blackboard. At the same time, though, it was hilariously funny. My sister could imitate her. But like Ringo Starr once said, you WOULD get up and walk out on her if she ever sang them the way “Mrs. Paris” did.

Evelyn would spring this on unsuspecting people at dinners and parties, and the reactions just made it even funnier. Just recently, I found one of the songs on YouTube -- “The Last Time I Saw Paris,” my favorite, -- and sent it to a friend. She told me to never, ever to do that to her again.

There was so much about mom that was fun. She’d get “whistleitis” while she was driving Jayne and I – and our friends – around, and we’d be mortified. But on the other hand, Jayne’s friends told her my mother was cool!

My mother patiently endured – and refereed -- our summer Home Run Derby games in our backyard, and she and my dad even had an end-of-the-season banquet and cookout for all of us. She taught me to play cribbage on a rainy afternoon at Hampton Beach. It was – in many ways – an idyllic childhood thanks to both my parents.

When we got older, she waited up for us. Once, my sister and I were at the same party and it was a good one. We got home late … or early, depending on your perspective. It was 3 in the morning. The lights were out and all was quiet. We took our shoes off and tiptoed through the living room and figured we had it made. All of a sudden, out of the darkness, from the den, this voice rang out …. “helllloooooo?”

Busted.

So many things come flooding back. There was the time the dog got into the sauce that my mother was preparing for a lunch of chipped beef and toast. I may or may not have had a hand in that … I’ll never tell. But I do remember – as we were outside washing the cars – mom SCREAMING at the dog … and the dog running for her life. Just as well. It smelled horrible. No wonder they call it what they do.

In 1972, I began talking about a girl I’d met named Linda Inserra. She and her friend, Martha, were inseparable. My MOTHER thought Linda was Linda and Martha was Sarah … and that I was seeing both Linda and Sarah at the same time.

There was the time, back before cell phones, when I got a ride home from work in Boston from a guy who had a mobile phone. He called the house from his mobile phone – via a mobile operator -- so he could tell my father he didn’t have to pick me up at Wonderland. Somehow, my mother got the message mixed up and thought I’d been kidnapped and was being held hostage in Mobile, Alabama. That caused a bit of commotion.

Now, no eulogy on my mother would be complete without talking about her poetry. She was a prolific poet and her work was often published in local newspapers. She had a poem for every occasion and she always seemed to know exactly what tone to take with it, especially if she was eulogizing someone. Yes, that is a gift. But she worked hard to write them and perfect them. They were a big part of her life … and, by extension, our lives, because she enriched our lives with every one of them.

It was the same with the songs she wrote. If you turn the commemorative card over, you will see the lyrics of one of them … “Hymn to the Green Scapular.” I am going to conclude this by reading another one – my favorite. It was something that she wrote as a poem for her mother’s Tuesday Garden Club. It’s called “Meditation in a Garden,” and she wrote it back in the late 1960s – a most turbulent time in our history. She later put it to music.

I wandered through my garden at the break of dawn one day,

And in the peaceful solitude I heard the flowers say;

“We've symbolized unselfish love since when the world began.

Why must there be such greed and hate within the hearts of man?

I gazed out at the shoreline and I watched God's mighty sea,

A feeling of great peace and strength quite over powered me

And I heard the ocean's rumble from the depth of its vast span,

“Why must there be cruel war and strife within the hearts of man?.

I viewed the morning sunrise watched the night give birth to day

With shameful thoughts to all mankind I heard the great sun say,

“I'm part of God's creation and I know my Masters plan,

He meant for peace and love to dwell within the hearts of man.

Yes I wandered through my garden lost in silent reverie,

Took comfort in the flowers that were there surrounding me.

And in chorus they addressed me, “It should be as He has willed.”

And I left my garden knowing that God's plan would be fulfilled.

God’s plan for Evelyn … and Ed … has been fulfilled. There are two recliners up there somewhere, and the ballgame’s about to start. Happy watching … and I hope the Red Sox win.

All this ... and Spam too!

You know it's going to be a unique evening when the first thing you get is a can of spam.

Let me explain. I attended a theater revue recently. The performance, by the Marblehead Little Theatre (I love how all community theaters use the British spelling) to raise money for its production, later this summer of "Spamalot." They called it "A Knight of Music," with the pun intended. One wonders why they didn't go all the way and call it "A Little Knight Music," thereby giving Stephen Sondheim a shoutout too, but that's a different topic.

With Sondheim having achieved octogenarian status a couple of years ago, it's time for the tributes to start mounting. Don't worry, though, Mr. Sondheim was well represented in this show, too, with songs from "The Frogs," "Anyone Can Whistle," and "Company" among those performed.

People always look at me funny when I tell them I'm a theater aficionado. How, they wonder, could a sportswriter who spends his professional days and nights writing about barbaric sports such as football possibly switch gears and savor musical theater. Believe me, it's possible. I remember as a kid being totally enthralled by "My Fair Lady." My parents had the soundtrack, and I used to listen to it endlessly. And I still consider "With A Little Bit Of Luck" one of my all-time favorites.

Then came "Fiddler on the Roof," because my uncle played the soundtrack once while we were visiting him. I loved it from the outset (and still do).

It all fell into place in rapid succession, and by the time I was out of high school, not only was I into musical theater, but equally fixated on classical music. This doesn't exclude my generation's soundtrack, either, as I love rock 'n' roll as much as Joan Jett does.

But there's something about amateur theater that just appeals to me. It's not Ethel Merman or Hugh Jackman up there. They're people like me. Maybe they had dreams at one point of doing this professionally. Maybe some still do. But they're up there singing (and at times dancing) because they grew up loving music and loving theater. Let's just say I can relate.

I never had dreams of being the next Gordon McRae, but I could have stood being the next Beethoven (if I could play the piano the way he did, perhaps), or Billy Joel. I may write sports for a living, but music has always been passion No. 1 for me.

Writing's a lot like music, actually. It's easier to convey the message, perhaps, but the good writers are doing more than just putting words together. They do so in hopes of leaving a profound impact long after the words have ceased. Read the last couple of pages of "The Great Gatsby" and you'll understand. In three, maybe four, sentences F. Scott Fitzgerald diagnoses society's problems not just in the 1920s but for all-time. There's a reason the book is considered a classic.

Good theater is like good writing. It takes concepts, builds tunes, lyrics, dancing and -- if it's done well -- leaves you with a profound visceral impression when it's over. The first time I saw "A Chorus Line" we left the Shubert in New York literally singing the song "One" all the way up Broadway. Got some funny looks, but we didn't care. The play was that good (though truth be told, "At the Ballet" is a much more gut-wrenching song that really leaves you stunned for a few minutes once it ends).

So when I got the invite to attend this revue, I was interested. I've been up there once or twice in my life under the same circumstances. I know the rush. Call it my inner ham. Anyone who performs knows what it's like to hear applause ... and to actually live for the validation of  your talents. When I was younger, I used to play the piano and the guitar at cookouts and other gatherings, and loved the attention. So I get it ... at all levels.

I spent enough time with the Theatre Company of Saugus to have -- in my head -- profiled every one of the performers who sang at the MLT production. I don't mean that in a bad way. I just mean that we're all pretty much the same. We all have jobs, but music and performing are our primary affectations ... and they are intense affectations.

The evening got off to a fine start with "Invocation and Instructions to the Audience," a Sondheim gem from "The Frogs." It's a bitingly clever list of do's and don'ts (mostly don'ts) that delineates the bad habits of every annoying person you've ever sat behind, in front of, or next to. Included is this nugget, "please, don't fart, there's very little air and this is art ..."

David Scannell, who's been around the community theater scene forever (I remember seeing him about 30 years ago, when we were both much younger), kept up with the Sondheim with "Anyone can Whistle." I have to admit that I don't enjoy all of Sondheim's material (for example, I wouldn't walk across the street to see "Sweeney Todd") but the ones that hit are usually dead on. And this song is one of them.

No Broadway revue in the 21st century would be complete without "Les Mis," and the company did three songs from the play: the very haunting "Bring Him Home, beautifully done by Matthew Ford; " Bobby Kerrigan's version of "Javert's Suicide" with its rather dramatic ending, and Kathy Downey's "I Dreamed a Dream." All were wonderful.

The Peter Mills song "Highway Miles," performed by Alex Grover, is one I hadn't heard. But I have to say I liked it very much. And its rather upbeat tempo was a nice infusion after the trio of intense "Les Miserables" songs. Call it good pacing as much as anything else.

Julie Schoenthal brought the house down, though, with "Alto's Lament," which isn't actually from a show. It's one of those jokey "Forbidden Broadway"-types songs that makes the rounds every so often when Christine Pedi (who has been in a lot of those shows) is hosting on the Broadway XM channel. Since my usual role in any community theater has been "chorus," I could easily relate. Because I'm a tenor (and a high tenor at that) I got to sing all the high harmony in "Pippin," and, to this day, can sing all the "Morning Glow" parts -- and hit the high notes too! The best part of the song is when she sings the echos in "I Feel Pretty."

Ending the first  half was "The Song That Goes Like This," which is from "Spamalot." It wonderfully lampoons every production number ever sung by a man and woman on a Broadway stage, up to and including the change in keys. It has Eric Idle written all over it, and Chris King and Leigh Barrett did it justice.

We went right from Monty Python to the Full Monty to open the second half, with a side-splitting rendition of "Big Ass Rock," with the Brothers Grover (Alex and Owen), along with Cameron Cronin. Very funny.

Then, more Sondheim with "Marry Me A Little" from "Company." This happens to be my favorite show of Sondheim's. There's not a bad song in the lot. I don't know why this never got more recognition than it did. I only wish someone in the cast had taken on Elaine Stritch and done "Here's to the Ladies who Lunch." No matter, though. Anything from "Company" is fine with me.

Barrett tackled Scott Evan Davis' "He's Perfect," another song I hadn't heard. It's a very difficult song to sing (you could call it "Sondheim-esque), but she did it very well. The guitars took over for the next three songs as the evening got into a kind of folky groove with "Poison and Wine," by Joy Williams and John Paul White (The Civil Wars), performed by Amy Strong and Jared Walsh; "Those you've Known" (from "Spring Awakening), sung by Michael Levesque, Strong and Alan Yannone), and "Second Nature," by -- I believe -- Destiny's Child (sung by Lavesque). They're all nice songs and they re-enforce my faith that kids who could be my grandchildren (almost) still have the taste and love of good music to perform it the way they did.

If there's a Sondheim, there has to be a Schwartz. He's hot too. He cleaned up on "Wicked" and is enjoying a marvelously successful rebirth of "Pippin." But never forget his other classic, "Godspell," which the MLT is doing this fall. The play is a whimsical version of St. Matthew's Gospel, but it takes a very serious turn with "By My Side," a beautiful song sung well by Trudi Olivetti and Sarah Sandlebeck Ernst.

This brings us to the conclusion. The MLT is currently putting on "Next to Normal," a rock musical that deals with such lively subjects (!) as bipolar disorder and coping with the death of a child. The three songs that concluded the show "I'm Alive," sung by Yannone, which is rather difficult to put into context in a short sentence or two if you don't know the dynamics of the show; "I Miss the Mountains," which details the bipolar patient's realization that she's over-medicated to the point where she can't feel anything (excellently done by Becky Ruccio) and "Lights," which ends both the play and the revue. For this, the cast members of the "Next to Normal" production were on stage, and were great.

As I've said, watching any amateur theatre production brings me back to the day when I did it. It was a brief time, but I enjoyed it so much. And it made me remember one of the most knowledgeable and demanding directors I've ever known, Nancy Lemoine, who staged our Saugus production of "Pippin"' in 1982. She died last month ... only 55 ... of cancer, and my only regret is not having worked with her more. You see, I never stuck with it.

I only hope that the young kids who were up there last night, living the dream (in whatever from the dream takes) don't repeat that mistake. Stay with it.

Oh, and about the Spam. Before the show begain, co-producer Judy Wayne asked a bunch of "Spamalot" trivia questions. I got one right (Tim Curry starred in the original production). We all got prizes for answering the questions correctly. We got spammed. Literally.

The Election ... My take

I know I'm a little out of my realm here, but I'd like to take a crack at what I feel this election has told us.

And I also know that postmortem thumb-sucking after such a volatile election is probably the last thing anyone wants to read. But there's just so much going on with me about this that I have to release it somewhere.

I understand I'm a sports editor. Nobody's got their ear to the ground, waiting for this report to come out. I can barely get people to listen to me when I talk about things I might actually know something about. So why should anyone listen to me about this?

Here's why. Because elections don't happen as the result of bloviating "experts." They happen because people like me spend over a year listening to commercials, reading stories, reading literature, watching debates and speeches, and we form our own conclusion ... not just on what the candidates say, but how they say it, and, perhaps, why they say it.

And we vote mainly our our own likes and dislikes when measured with, and against, what the candidates say.

And regardless of what anyone else says, our voice is the only one that matters. We decide. And this year, we decided we were fed up with negativity, fed up with meanness, fed up with the threat of undoing social progress, and fed up with an opportunistic candidate who changed positions on important issues about as often as you and I change our socks.

The Republicans wanted to make this election 100 percent about the economy. They put up a candidate with a lifetime of business experience and tried to sell us on the idea that regardless of anything else they espoused, no matter how vitriolic it seemed to be, Mitt Romney's knowledge about how to run a business trumped all.

Problem is, it didn't. And it shouldn't have.

Two weeks ago, we had a super storm that devastated the east coast at a time when -- otherwise -- the bloviation machine would have been spewing smoke thanks to the speed at which it was churning. It was latest so-called storm of the century -- a century that is only 12 years old.

Hurricane Sandy did more than slow the campaign down. It shifted the focus onto climate change ... an issue that had been missing from this campaign. But more than that, it underscored the reality that within the parameters of the debate, it was largely Republicans who scoffed at the notion of climate change and its effects on weather.

If Sandy was the second coming of the "perfect storm," that ripped up the East Coast in 1991, then the Republican campaign of 2012 was a "perfect storm" of miscalculations, missteps and missed opportunity on the part of the Republicans.

I am an Obama supporter and make no apologies. But outside of Jimmy Carter, there has been no incumbent in my lifetime who was more vulnerable to being defeated than Barack Obama. With the right approach, this could have been the type of historic cakewalk that catapulted Ronald Reagan to sainthood in the eyes of HIS supporters.

 But the Republicans didn't think it through. They didn't listen to themselves speak. And to many people -- especially those who live in fear that they're going to be called into the office and told they're an economic liability to the company -- they sounded exactly like corporate hatchet men (and men is the operative word in an election season where women ever-more-strongly asserted themselves). Even if they may have been right about some of the sacrifices that needed to be made, the gave off a bad vibe to too many voting blocs. And in the end, and for a change, those voting blocs united and found a compelling reason to keep Barack Obama in office.

Mitt Romney seems to be a pretty good guy. I'm sure, in his private moments, when he's not trying to impress a particular group, he's can sound warm and compassionate, and can connect with people as well as anyone else.

The problem with Romney was that no matter what he said, you had to do an algebra problem to determine what was behind it. Who was he playing to? Who was supposed to hear it? It just never appeared that he said anything ... not even "how's the weather?" ... that didn't have a hidden purpose or ulterior motive. He made Eddie Haskell look sincere.

Obviously, politics is a business rife with duplicitous creatures who would use their right hands to sell their left hands to the devil if they thought it would get them anywhere. But in that world, Romney stood out.

That's the first lesson the Republicans -- if they're seriously interested in learning any lessons -- should take from this. George W. Bush connected with the American people because, right or wrong, he had the courage of his convictions. He pretty much got up there and said, "this is me. Vote for me if you like me ... vote for the other guy if you don't." With Bush, to quote Bob Dylan, you didn't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blew.

With Romney you needed an army of them.

Today, I see the Republican party -- at least on a national level -- about where it was in 1964 after an ideologically pure, but very conservative, Barry Goldwater lost spectacularly to Lyndon Johnson (ironically, when Goldwater uttered that famous remark about extremism in the pursuit of liberty not being a vice, he was responding to accusations by Mitt's dad, George Romney, that he was too much of a right-winger and that Republicans should repudiate what he stood for).

What did the Republicans do? They got a whole lot more pragmatic about their ideological purity four years later and won the White House with Richard Nixon (of ALL people!).

Wednesday, I could sense there were a whole lot of Republicans walking around, scratching their heads, and wondering how it all went so wrong. A lot of Republicans I know -- even here in Massachusetts, where the GOP has been the skunk at the lawn party for decades -- were so confident about this.

Perhaps that first debate gave them sufficient reason for feeling that way. It was a poor performance by Obama. He clearly underestimated Romney's chutzpah ... his willingness to show many faces, depending on where he was and to whom he was speaking. Romney took him by surprise, and he had Obama back on his heels.

First impressions last, right? Isn't that what they say? It's obviously what the Republicans believed. If you checked into the social media sites the next day, you'd have thought the election was over. And from that point on, Romney and GOP supporters became more and more emboldened ... and more and more certain they'd win.

That first debate also signaled a change in Romney's strategy. Apparently he figured he'd done enough to solidify the far right vote, and began working on the great unwashed mass of undecideds (something I always thought was rather a myth ... I don't think there were undecideds as much as there may have been luke-warm Dems/Republicans who just couldn't warm up to either candidate, and who may have been perfectly happy to sit this one out if not energized to vote).

He moderated. He tried to move away from the stands he'd taken for over a year in attempt to woo the middle ... and the people who only started paying attention a month before the election (I don't know who that could have been ... but obviously they thought there were such people out there).

That obviously didn't have the desired effect. Romney's people banked on an electorate that would remember the last thing it heard. It got an electorate whose memory was a lot longer, and that remembered all the other stances too. And if there were moderates out there who took umbrage at the unmitigated gall of Romney's pandering, you can also bet there were hard-core conservatives who had always been doubtful of Mitt's "credentials," and who perhaps felt betrayed by his shifting policy positions. And who, perhaps, stayed home on Nov. 6.

There were some other circumstances that, in the end, worked against Romney rather than for him ... as he (and the GOP) might have thought.

I'm sure the Republicans considered the Supreme Court's vacation of the clause in the McCain-Feingold act of 2002 that prohibited corporations and unions from financing independent political ads a victory. And as much as the Democrats may have squawked about that decision (and squawk they did) both parties took advantage of their new freedom to accept ads financed by corporations and PACs.

I refer, of course, to Citizens United and its lawsuit that resulted in overturning the McCain-Feingold provision.

This may have been a bonanza for the Republicans for the reason that most corporations tend to favor the policies that the party supports. You don't see very many liberal CEOs.

But buckets full of money generally mean more negative, more vitriolic ads and that's what we got. In spades. It was an exceptionally long, nasty and expensive campaign. And I don't know ... maybe enough people got exasperated by all the vitriol that they reacted by blaming the party they felt was more responsible. And since it was largely Republicans who seemed to support Citizens United, the onus -- especially in the swing states where the electorate isn't all knee-jerk GOP or Democrat -- fell on them.

It's just a theory. But in all of this, I'm beginning to see that the prevailing word that would perhaps describe this election is "backlash." I see this election as a jigsaw puzzle, because that's often what elections are. Certain pieces of it end up being the keys to the whole puzzle. If you find a home for one piece, it's amazing how many other pieces of the puzzle come together.

It's almost like "connect the dots." For example, the GOP's Mitch McConnell, the Senate Minority Leader, very publicly vowed to make Obama a "one-term president." From a minority position, he and the Republicans abused the filibuster system so badly that if the president nominated someone for Dog Catcher in Jerkwater County, Florida, it never got to the floor.

When Scott Brown ran against Martha Coakley for Ted Kennedy's seat (after the senator died), there was a great deal of Republican action flooding into Massachusetts. Why? Not because Scott Brown was uniquely qualified to be a U.S. Senator, but because Brown would have given the Republicans better leverage with which to use the filibuster. Conversely, Obama -- at a moment where the Republicans and the Tea Party had been relentlessly beating the drums of discontent over Obamacare -- had to come in and try to bail Coakley out. The results were disastrous for the Democrats.

But the Republicans apparently forgot that the vanquished often live to see another day. Nixon rose from the dead. And when they loudly ran Elizabeth Warren out of a relatively minor position in the Obama cabinet, that gave her the impetus to run for the U.S. Senate in Massachusetts and defeat Brown.

In other words, and once again, the Republicans were done in by their own hubris and bravado. 

Now, if you measure McConnell's state objective -- which was to make sure Obama was defeated in 2012 -- and measure it against all the foot-dragging on the part of the Republicans over the last four years, what do you get? You get a trend. You get an electorate that may be slow on the uptake sometimes, but that is smart enough to understand the difference between an honest and loyal opposition and a group of obstructionists who don't necessarily have its best interests in their hearts.

They remember these things ... and when it comes time to respond, they do.

There was backlash over the Tea Party. In Michigan, Northern Ohio (which carried Obama to victory in that state) and other industrial regions that proved the difference between blue and red, auto workers who undoubtedly remembered Romney's exhortation to "let Detroit go bankrupt" spoke at the ballot box.

Latino voters who heard Romney stake out a position on immigration that seemed to embody the worst kind of Xenophobia spoke at the ballot box. It's been said that the Latino voters represent the fastest-growing constituency. Obama carried it with almost 70 percent of the vote.

Abortion ... veiled threats to do away with Roe v. Wade (from which Romney later backed off) ... threats to repeal the president's health plan ... Senators Aiken's remark about "legitimate rape" and candidate Mourdock's view that if a woman conceives out of rape, it's God's will ... threats to cut off funding of PBS (and stupidly invoking "Big Bird" into the discussion) ... a binder full of women ... these all resonated with different groups of people the Republican didn't think they needed to win the White House.

But they were wrong. The Republicans DID need them. 

It's not a given that Romney was necessarily on the wrong side of some of these issues. It's more the dismissive way he stated his case that perhaps turned people off. That crack about the "47 percent" killed him. It gave Obama a wide-open palette to paint the less attractive side of being a venture capitalist against the backdrop of the remark. And until the president pulled his no-show in debate No. 1, that was working marvelously.

Time and time again, Romney gave the president the mallet with which Obama gladly clobbered him. And, really, isn't that a cardinal truism in politics? That there are times when you're going to get hit over the head, but that doesn't mean you have to provide people with the mallet to do it? There were times in this campaign that Romney was practically passing the mallets out.

We see the jigsaw puzzle start to come together. The insensitivity (or seeming insensitivity, perhaps) to some of the needs of that 47 percent hurt him with every demographic except white males (whose numbers in support of him were higher than even Reagan's). Twenty years ago, Romney might have won this election going away.

But it's not 20 years ago. It's now. African-Americans, women, Latinos, young people who don't necessarily have strong ties to organized religion (and who are graduating from college in droves with poor job prospects), didn't necessarily appreciate being seen as moochers by someone who was successfully branded as a bloodless plutocrat who threw people out of work for the sole purpose of turning a profit in a business he'd just taken over.

They feared that the social safety net that at least promised to catch them if they fell would, instead, be pulled out from under them. Honest, hard-working people need social safety nets too. And those hard-working people spoke with their ballots.

They feared that the stampede of socially conservative and unduly judgmental right-wingers would crush any legitimate social progress we've made.

They heard one too many coded racist remarks ... saw one too many belligerent ads ... heard one too many hysterical exhortation that Obama "hates this country" ... had their intelligence insulted too often by the notion floated by Republicans that we should be somehow farther along in recovering from an economic recession (one that the president inherited from a Republican predecessor who fought two wars via credit card) more serious than anything since the Great Depression. And that the fact we aren't was Obama's fault.

They saw a party, and a candidate, that seemed to encourage the people in this country who could afford to help the most when it came to contributing toward bringing us back from the financial cliff to, instead, pull back and refuse to put forth any more monetary effort to rescue a system that had served them so well ... and for so long. And they spoke.

I mean, seriously, all anyone one was asking was, "hey, help out a little!" The spectacular refusal to do so was, in a word, astounding. And, as we've now seen, the backlash was severe.

They all got up and spoke on election day ... all the growing demographic constituencies who are, just now, picking up enough steam to influence the national agenda.  And obviously, their take was different. They saw a president who spent much of his four years in office trying to tame a beast that wasn't very easy to tame. And to them, he succeeded. The wolf may not be vanquished, but he's not howling at the door as loudly as he was in 2008.

The reality of politics is this: Every president, governor, mayor, congressman, senator, selectman ... all of them ... have something in common with the Wizard of Oz. If you pull back the curtain, you see a fallible human being who is far from capable of pulling off half of what they promise ... and, for that matter, half of what their opponents accuse them of doing. There's just no way. I think one of the ways incumbents have the advantage when it's time for re-election is that they ARE sadder and wiser. I didn't sense the unbridled joy of 2008 with Obama. He didn't radiate hope and change. But what he did radiate was the wisdom of having learned, through four bitter years, what kind of a game this really is at this level ... what he could do and, more importantly, what he couldn't do.

I hate to say it, but running for governor of Massachusetts, and winning, is like hitting .350 in Double-A ball. The varsity is a whole new experience, and nobody -- regardless of what they may claim -- is truly ready for it.

Obama's advantage, for better or worse, is that he was. He may have gone drawn the collar and whiffed four times in the first debate, but he was wise enough to know he'd have another day. He didn't panic. If the same thing had happened to Romney, he may have been toast, because he didn't have any reservoir of experience from which to draw.

Obama may have had a hard time handling the slings and arrows of a sluggish economy. But he handled the slings and arrows of a rough campaign better than Romney did.

The saddest thing -- at least from a Republican viewpoint -- is that this was a very winnable election ... and for all the reasons they repeatedly pounded home. The economy IS sluggish. Unemployment IS stubbornly high. Obama wasted so much political capitol getting his health care plan passed that he didn't have any left to lead on other thorny issues. There were many times when it appeared that he was being led, as opposed to being the one leading.

He was/is far from perfect. He has his own problems with being (or seeming) remote and out of touch. And he has his own problems trying to connect with people who aren't on board with much of what he stands for.

In another election, and with a political organization a bit quicker on the uptake on the country's ever-shifting demographics, Romney may have won.

But the GOP played to its base. And unlike in past years (even as recently as Bush II), that base is shrinking.

 Conversely, Obama's campaign understood those shifting demographics. Not only that, the Obama campaign won this election with arithmetic. It carved out the proverbial "path to 270" by understanding just what it needed to do. And it understood that for the first time in quite a while, the melting-pot diversity that defines the Democrat party had finally reached the point where it counteracted the traditional GOP base.

What does this all mean? It means a divided government for the foreseeable future. The nationwide demographic that thrust Obama into power doesn't exist state-by-state, and since much of the middle of the country is Republican, we won't be seeing a one-party legislature anytime soon. We may see more of this: the Democrats winning on the national level (at least until the Republicans can catch up with the shifting constituencies) and the GOP winning house and senate seats.

This election was not strictly about the economy. It was about a collection of divergent voting blocs that rose up and created a profound backlash against a party that not only didn't seem to care about them, but seemed seemed absolutely oblivious to their existence.

Things that go bump in the night ... and the rest of the time too ...

Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Things that go bump in the night ... and the rest of the time too
I was at a softball game yesterday and got an attack of nature. Thankfully, even though the door to the men's room at this ballpark was padlocked shut, there were several people there who had keys. One of them let me borrow his.

So, I trudged down to the men's room, key in hand. And I was in full panic. What if it's the wrong key? What if it gets stuck in the lock? What if the lock is situated in place where I can maneuver my way to use the key? What if the key won't turn? What if I break the key because it won't turn the lock.

I'm telling you. It dawned on me at that moment that even though I'm a mature (some would argue about that) middle-aged man with no apparent lack of capacity, the simplest things intimidate me. Like unlocking a door!!

I wonder whether anyone else has these feelings of terror over doing the simplest little things. Later, after successfully unlocking the door, and then locking it back up (though not without a last-minute surge of panic over the fact it took a few seconds to close the lock), I started compiling a list of all the stupid little things that intimidate me on a daily basis. Such as ...

Dealing with the freakin government about anything. I don't care if it's paying a parking ticket, dealing with the Department of Motor Vehicles (or, Registry as we call it up here in Massachusetts), preparing tax forms ... anything ... these simple chores can seem exhausting and terrifying to me. I'll go to any length to avoid doing these things, even if it's to my detriment. I don't think a year's gone by that I haven't left my taxes until the very last minute (I even got a ticket for running a red light trying to make it to the Post Office so I could have my return postmarked in time).

I'm forever trying to figure out the exact, perfect time to do my business at the RMV because I hate waiting in line. I detest waiting in line.

It's not just the RMV that catches my line-hating wrath either. I put off Christmas shopping until, literally, the last day because I can't stand crowded stores because they mean, of course, endless lines. So you can say lines intimidate me too.

Everyone else has glowing memories of their time at Disney World ... all I can remember is standing in line for over an hour just to get on Space Mountain.

I got in a fender bender recently. Well, not that recently. It was in February. I just last week submitted all the paperwork to my insurance company. Dealing with insurance companies intimidates me, especially if I've been in an accident that might raise my rates (as this one surely will).

Seeking, and receiving, any kind of medical treatment puts me on edge for days at a time. I suffered with a toothache for a month and a half before breaking down and going to the dentist. By the time I finally went, and the dentist got a good look at the abscessed tooth in my mouth, he said, "that's one of the worst ones I've ever seen."

Of course it was. Going to the dentist means Novocains. The Drill. Some guy you barely know sticking long, sharp objects in your mouth and picking your teeth with them ... and gouging the insides of them as well. It means severe discomfort. So, for people like me, who tend to put these things off for as long as possible, you have to find that balance that exists between the pain you're in, and the pain you're going to be in. More often than not, you fail. And one day, what was a little nagging, dull ache becomes a full blown abscess, and you're climbing the walls.

And then -- and only when it's way too late -- drills, Novocains and teeth-pickers don't seem so bad. The day the endodontist numbed my tooth and put me out of the misery of "the worst abscess I've ever seen" was a very happy one.

And then, of course, there are the pain killers. I have an aunt who was a nurse, and she once told me that pain killers don't really put you to sleep. It only seems that way because they take the edge off the pain and allow you to relax.

Could be. I'd never argue with Aunt Ruth. One didn't argue with Aunt Ruth. But if she's right, I did a lot of relaxing after that root canal!!! I can certainly understand how these things can get addictive if you're not careful. And this wasn't even the good stuff. It was only Vicodin.

If the dentist intimidates me, so does the doctor, especially if it's my GP, and I'm feeling a little porcine on the day of my physical. Then, I don't want to go. I've come up with some great excuses for not going, too. It's not that he's going to hurt me as much as he's going to lecture me. Imagine. I'm a grown man and I quiver at the idea of my doctor ... a guy who I'm paying ... giving me a lecture about making healthier choices. If that's not the definition of "intimidation" I don't know what is.

But there are other reasons going to the doctor intimidates me. Just after I turned 50, and just after I'd lost 50 pounds doing Weight Watchers, I had surgery on one of my knees. I went to the hospital for all the pre-op stuff, and next thing I know, I'm getting a call from my Primary Care Physician tell me he had to see me now. .

What on earth could he want, I wondered. Well. What he wanted was to tell me was that I had diabetes. Ain't that just a kick in the pants! Wasn't losing weight supposed to prevent the onset of Type 2 diabetes?

So now, I come by this aversion to doctors naturally. It seems I'm always getting bad news from this guy when I go. So I don't go. And when absolutely have to go, I have this impending sense of doom for the entire week prior to the appointment.

Believe it or not, and even though I have an electric lawn mower now instead of a gasoline-operated one, cutting my grass intimidates me to the point where I can let it go for weeks at a time.

Why? Old tapes. Back when I had the type of lawn mower where you had to pull the rope to ignite the engine, I'd pull the rope and nothing would happen. Wouldn't matter what I did. Every spring, I'd take it to the repair shop to get it tuned up, I'd get it home, pull that rope, and pffft. Nothing.


I swear, I hurt my back from all that pulling. And, of course, the more nothing happens, the more impatient you get, the louder you curse, and the harder you pull that rope. And you keep getting nothing ... and keep repeating the same cycle of frustration.

Eight years ago, I got an electric lawn mower. Now, all I have to worry about is running over the cord, which -- so far -- I've managed not to do. I still have the same lawn mower, it works perfectly, and I still have this momentary sense of dread every time I go to start it up.

Next on the list are airports. Any airports. And for any reason. My best/worst airport story involved Philadelphia last summer. For some reason, our GPS took me into the Philadelphia Airport, which was not where I wanted to be. Don't ask me why. Ask Magellan. She told me to go there.

Once Magellan got me into the airport, she kept me going around in circles until I was ready to throw her out the window. Finally, I politely (!) told Mrs. Magellan her services were no longer needed -- at least on this journey -- and that I'd find my way out of the stupid airport myself. Which I did.

Simply put, airports are terrible places. And they were terrible places long before 9/11 made it necessary for them to be terrible places.

Nothing like having your luggage left behind at the airport while you're on a cross country flight to San Francisco for a wedding. But since 9/11? Oy Vey.

If you want to fly, fly early. Like crack of dawn early. The later in the day you travel, the worse those lines get (and we've already discussed how I hate lines). It just makes traveling such a chore. The whole ordeal just seems overwhelming to me.

And we're just talking about escaping the airport. Next we can discuss boarding the plane with stuff you want to store overhead, only to open the compartment and see steamer trunks that take up three spaces in there. Really, you have all you can do not to hit someone.

I suppose half the reason I get so tense about these things is because I'm so skittish about the whole idea of traveling to begin with. I don't have the same feelings about trains or automobiles ... just planes!

Going to Fenway Park anytime intimidates me. Going to Gillette Stadium does not. Any time I ever set foot in the old Boston Garden was an exercise in torture. I love the new place (and I may be in a distinct minority here, too).

Anything I do for the first time terrifies me. If I've never driven somewhere before, I have to give myself an hour to get lost (even with the GPS, because now I worry that it'll direct me to an airport and drive me around in circles).

Anything that needs to be assembled in "six easy steps" just about makes me break out in a rash. They may be six steps, but they're not easy. There's always some pre-drilled screw hole that won't line up with its counterpart, which makes screwing two pieces of wood together damn near impossible. I've done some of my best cursing trying to assemble something in "six easy steps."

I'll do you one better. Reading any directions makes me quake in fear. I just got a new iPod, and reading those directions ... they might as well have been printed in Russian. First of all, the type is so small that if you have any eye issues at all, you can't read the instructions. But more to the point, they're in a language that simply isn't to be understood. Either that, or they assume you know the lingo when, most of the time, you don't.

And that's why I really resist buying anything technological.

And when it comes to human confrontations, count me out. I'm the world's worst. They intimidate me more than anything else. Even when I'm sure I'm right, I instinctively back off the minute I encounter one of those uber-agressive types who seem to be louder, and more obnoxious, when they're the most wrong. I'm sure we've all dealt with them.

Instead of standing my ground against these bullies, I take the attitude that it's better to escape situations peacefully with the knowledge you're right than it is to take the humiliation of losing an argument to a total jerk who can't admit he's wrong.

And I'm always totally ashamed of myself when that happens, too.

Right about now you're probably thinking, "boy, what a fuss-budget!" Maybe if I told you I'm a Virgo it would make you understand better. We Virgos are like that. Everything has to be just so.

You're probably also wonder howinhell I manage to get through life with all these phobias and fears! I'll tell you. It ain't easy! Instant paralysis over anything that isn't laid out neatly before me can be unsettling.

But you know? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Somehow, I unlocked the men's room door ... somehow, I got my iPod to work. Somehow, I figured out how to uninstall, and then re-install, iTunes because the old version wasn't compatible with my new iPod.

And that's the beauty of it. Having fears and phobias, and learning to work past them, gives you this "cool of the evening" feeling ... as if, for that one, brief, shining moment, you've conquered the world.

Until you have to go the men's room again and have to unlock it yourself. Then all the gremlins return.

God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen ... and everyone else

Are we all aware that for the simple positioning of a comma, the entire meaning of one of our most beloved Christmas carols would take on an entirely different meaning?

It's true. "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" is, I'm sure, in our heart of hearts of Yuletide tidings (say that 10 times fast). But it doesn't mean what we all think it means, and it's because of where the comma goes.

You see, it's not "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen ..." it's "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen."

Same words ... comma one word over.

The first version would seem to mean be at peace, merry gentlemen, as you celebrate Christmas. The second ... correct ... version leaves room for a bit of a more robust celebration. In this case, "God Rest Ye Merry" doesn't mean "be at peace" at all. It means by all means, make merry the celebration of Christmas. You know ... eat, drink, and revel in the company of your friends and families.

I have to say I like version No. 2 ... the correct ... version much better.

This is one of many Christmas carols/songs that are either misinterpreted, or that translate badly into English, or that simply make no sense at all no matter what language you're talking about.

For example. Let's discuss "The First Noel." First of all, despite the use of the word "Noel," this is actually an English carol. Which makes it even more confusing. You could excuse the obtuse lyrics if someone told you they were translated from some old French verse. But how to you explain this line: "On a Cold Winter's Night that was so deep."

OK. Are we missing a line here? What was deep? The snow? It could be, but there's no mention of snow in the song ... and if the baby Jesus was, indeed, born in Bethlehem, it doesn't snow there very often. In fact, a cursory google of Israel and weather says that it only snows regularly in Golan Heights. Bethlehem has more of a Mediterranean climate, which means generally cold and rainy winters.

So maybe the "deep" refers to the manure in the barn where the Baby Jesus was born. Who knows? Or maybe the author was trying to convey the message that the birth of Jesus was a profound event in the history of man, and, hence, very deep. But we're getting way to analytical here.

Next on the agenda to discuss is "Silent Night," which has a rather fascinating history all of its own. It was written by an Austrian priest in 1816 and set to music two years later in Oberndorf when the organ at St. Nicholas' Church broke down on Christmas Eve. It was intended to be played at Midnight Mass with a simple guitar accompaniment.

And from those humble beginnings it has become, arguably, the most beloved Christmas carols of them all.

But that's not why we're discussing it here. We're discussing it because of the line "Round Yon Virgin, Mother and Child." This has to be a case of German being translated badly into English, because I defy anyone to tell me what-all that means.

Reminds me of the story about the kid bringing home a drawing he did at school of the nativity, with the baby Jesus, Mary, Joseph, sheep, shepherds, the three kings, and this grotesque, hulking figure looming in the background.

"Who's that?" the kids mother asks.

"That's Round John Virgin," the kid replied.

My guess is that "Round Yon Virgin, Mother and Child," means "behold Mary and Jesus." Can't think of what else it could mean.

Let us proceed. "Away in a Manger" actually has two tunes with the same set of lyrics for both. One is written by someone named Murry, or Mueller, and is based loosely on a Strauss waltz. The second, which is also in 3/4 times, was written by William J. Kilpatrick in 1895. And while the tunes are radically different, they actually counterpoint each other quite well.

In 1865, English writer William Chatterton Dix had a near-death experience and, as a result, was confined to months of bed rest. He wrote many hymns during that period, including one in which he put lyrics to the tune of the popular folk song "Greensleeves." That became, of course, "What Child is This," which has the distinction of being covered quite eloquently in the 1970s by Justin Hayward of the Moody Blues.

A lot of these songs are steeped in history. Did you know, for example, that "Joy to the World" was based partly on a refrain from Handel's "Messiah?" Yes, indeed. Not the entire song, perhaps, but the chorus "Let heaven and nature sing ..." was taken from the refrain "Comfort Ye" from the famous oratorio ... the same one that gave us the Hallelujah Chorus."

As Casey Stengel would say, "you could look it up." I did.

Now, speaking of odd little histories, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!" is certainly unique.

It was originally written as a somber, solemn piece of music. But it was later changed to the more majestic tune we know and love today. And much of that tune was ripped off from a piece by composer Felix Mendelssohn (who brought us the traditional wedding recessional from "A Midsummer's Night's Dream," among other things). And when Mendelssohn wrote it, it was a cantata celebrating Gutenberg's invention of the printing press.

But the first time I heard it, I thought it was about some guy named Harold.

If some of the traditional carols have roundabout histories, so do our more secular songs. "Silver Bells" was ostensibly written about hearing the Salvation Army bell-ringers that are ubiquitous in New York during the holiday season (you won't find this one in Wiki ... I heard it from a Salvation Army captain during a rotary club luncheon).

The word "Christmas" never appears in "Winter Wonderland." Yet it is one of our most enduring season songs ... at least in the Northern hemisphere.

A personal favorite here is "Sleigh Ride," by Leroy Anderson, who wrote some hundreds of light concert pieces, such as "The Syncopated Clock" and "Buggler's Holiday" that were introduced by his good friend Arthur Fiedler via the Boston Pops.

"Sleigh Ride," another piece where you'll be looking all day if you seek to find the word "Christmas" in the lyrics, wasn't even written in the winter at all. It was written as an orchestral piece during a July heat wave, with lyrics, depicting a simple generic winter scene, added later. Thus, it would appear Anderson wrote "Sleigh Ride" for the same reason I might break out the DVD to "Fargo" in the middle of August ... to simulate the feeling of being able to cool off.

If you want your head to really spin, look up the origin and explanation of "The Twelve Days of Christmas." Nobody's sure whether it's English or French, and the words are different depending upon which version you hear. In one there are twelve drummers drumming; and in another it's nine drummers drumming and twelve fiddlers fiddling.

This would generally speak to the belief that the song got its beginnings as one of those parlor games where everyone has to go around repeating all the stuff they'd heard prior until someone finally slips up.

And, of course, the simple scope of the gifts, and what receiving them would do to the poor person who receives them, has been the subject of many spoofs.

And then there's "We Three Kings of Orient Are." This is actually an American carol written in the mid 19th century by an Episcopalian priest in New York. And although the words are pretty ponderous (field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star ...) they make sense. They were written for a Christmas pageant, and they actually tell a story.

But I can never hear it without laughing, because I think kids of all ages, and all locales, learned to sing it this way: We three kings or orient are ... tried to smoke a rubber cigar ... it was loaded and exploded ..."

I know. I know. Dumb. But when you're 11, dumb is entertaining.

Finally, Christmas isn't Christmas without hearing certain songs. If I don't hear "Do You Hear What I Hear" at least once, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the holiday season is incomplete. But here's the caveat: I can hear any one of a hundred different versions of the song, but the only one I care about is Der Bingle's. There's something about Crosby and Christmas.

It's just a nice song, with a nice sentiment. But when you find out why it was written, it just punches you right in the stomach. It was written in 1962 as a plea for peace during the Cuban Missile Crisis. And its authors couldn't perform it without getting choked up because, as one of them put it, "you must realize we were under the threat of nuclear war at the time."

But when it comes to Der Bingel, his recording of "White Christmas" remains the best-selling single of all time. It was written by Irving Berlin and it pretty much symbolizes an old-fashioned Christmas the same way his "God Bless America" symbolizes patriotism (but did you know that Woody Guthrie wrote "This Land is Your Land" as a response to "God Bless America?").

What I find ironic, however, is that we all sing "White Christmas" like it's some kind of idyllic dream, yet if the weatherman even mentions the word "snow" in the days leading up to Christmas, we act as if someone snatched the Christmas pudding right out from under us.

Another "must hear:" "Father Christmas" by the Kinks, which kind of shatters the idyllic Christmas myth to smithereens and gets down to gritty reality: Leave all the toys to the little rich boys and give me money. Then there's "I Believe in Father Christmas" by Greg Lake, which speaks to a number of issues: The commercialization of the holiday and the loss of childhood innocence associated with it. Following along, we have a very eclectic selection that includes poppy pieces like "Jingle Bell Rock" and "Little St. Nick" by the Beach Boys (which Brian Wilson actually once sang during a concert in the middle of July); twisted pieces such as "Christmas Wrappings" by the Waitresses and "A Christmas Song" by Jethro Tull; and Bruce Springsteen's "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town."

John Lennon and Yoko Ono's "Happy Christmas, War is Over" was written and recorded in 1971, with the Harlem Boys Choir providing the backing. It was kind of a combination protest and Christmas song written as the Vietnam War was raging.

But its tune was actually taken from a traditional folk song about a racehorse called "Stewball," that was sung by, among others, Peter, Paul and Mary.

Of course, the song became an instant Christmas staple in 1980 after Lennon was shot to death in New York. The other irony: Yoko Ono sings on this record. You can hear her loud and clear. In Lennon's life, she was reviled as the "woman who broke up the Beatles," yet now, all these years later, she has emerged as an almost sympathetic figure in the group's historical dynamic.

By the time John Williams stepped down as conductor of the Boston Pops I was pretty tired of him. That's because he'd always manage to sneak one of his own compositions into just about every concert, and with such a wide and distinguished palate on which to paint, I thought he slanted his concerts with too much ego. It would be like telling Picasso he could host an art show, telling him he had access to every classic ever painted, and seeing half his cubist paintings speckle the gallery.

This doesn't mean Williams was/is a hack, or that Picasso was a bad artist. It just means that John maybe could have stepped aside once in a while and featured someone else other than himself.

Yet Williams did write one of my very favorite Christmas songs, simply called "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas." I first heard it in the closing credits of "Home Alone 2," but the Pops usually play it during their Christmas show every year (yes, even with Keith Lockhart at the podium) and it captures the spirit of the season very well.

After today, they'll all be put in a box and kept on ice until, I don't know, next October. Radio stations and department stores seem to trot them out earlier and earlier every year, which really does nothing except defeat the purpose behind what makes them special in the first place. And while I know that the never-ending debate over whether we should even acknowledge the religious aspects of Christmas at all in public seems to be more divisive each year, there's no denying that, as music, a lot of these carols are very beautiful and peaceful, and that they reconnect you to your childhood faster than any other single thing you experience.

I hope they're around to enjoy for many years to come ... and that ever-encroaching commercialism doesn't eventually blunt completely their singular purpose in our lives.