These short essays were originally commissioned by a gourmet coffee roasting company in Portland, Oregon. They were scheduled to appear on coffee can labels, but instead remained unpublished for ten years. The entire Smashwords collection, “Coffee Can Chronicles”, is available for purchase.
SO WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING?
As I take a few reflective sips of coffee this morning, I'm reminded of an impending personal milestone. For reasons which will soon become apparent, I'm tempted to change that to read 'personal MILLstone'.
Next year will mark my twentieth season out of high school. Of course you realize this means plane tickets, ill-fitting suits, complete memory loss, hotel reservations and an open bar. Guess which one will get my fullest attention. It's not that I'm against the need for class reunions on some intellectual plane, but sometimes I question the wholesale marketing of what may be a rather painful yardstick for some. I anticipate receiving quite a few unsolicited invitations from companies who specialize in class reunions. I have a feeling I'm going to separating a little wheat from a boatload of chaff when January arrives.
At first I feared that no one from my class would even find me. I just knew I'd end up on that collective Wanted Poster you always see in the local newspaper. Now with the glories of the Internet in full bloom, my new fear is that EVERYONE will find me. I can't speak for all of you, but don't you sometimes think of your former classmates as perpetual teenagers? My last contact with 90% of my class was in the years of Reaganomics and fluorescent clothing. I'm not sure I'm ready to meet the modern editions who will show up en masse at the one country club in my hometown. I just know I'm going to expect parachute pants and leg warmers a-plenty, while the DJ plays Duran Duran and a Flock of Seagulls.
As badly as I want to meet the accountants, teachers, housewives and small business owners of today, part of me still wants to crawl back into the 80s womb and talk about Luke and Laura's wedding all night. Nostalgia isn't everything, but sometimes it's the thing that will keep you the warmest.
THE GREAT HYMNAL WAR
As I drink my coffee this morning, I think about my pseudo-career in music. I have always been interested in music, ever since I taught myself to play one of those wheezy Magnus chord organs when I was 4. The Magnus people made learning a breeze with their idiosyncratic numbering system. I still enjoy playing 5-6-5-3-5-6-5-3, and that beautiful love ballad 1-4-3-5-3-5. Eventually I took up the clarinet and learned a little something about music theory. Little did I know how much of an impact this early musical education would have on my life.
When I was 12, we joined the pew-jumping, chandelier-swinging church next door to our house. In reality it was an Apostolic Pentecostal church, but you know how rumors get started. The pastor was a firm believer in the encouragement of 'young people', which surely included me at the time. His wife was the church pianist, a young associate pastor was the organist, a family of country singers played guitars and yours truly became- the accordionist. My Magnus chord organ skills payed off in spades as I dutifully plowed through any song mentioning the Blood of the Lamb. One thing about Pentecostal music- the Blood had better be flowing, or else we're not playing it. For the four years I played in that orchestra, I was steeped in foot-stomping, hand-clapping good old gospel music.
Twenty some odd years later I find myself being asked to play the organ for a small country Methodist church in Alabama. Full of my former Pentecostal vim and vigor, I eagerly agreed to take on the challenge. Oh ye of little research. I found myself deeply embroiled in what can only be called the Great Hymnal War. The old hymnals could conceivably be divided into dirge/not dirge, while the absolute newest versions might as well have included 'Jesus is just alright with me'. Somewhere in the middle was the accepted hymnal, which incorporated just enough of both camps to be perfectly contentious to musicians. I'm actually enjoying the schizophrenia, as I quietly plug away on a real church organ every Sunday. But every once in a while, I find myself wanting to strap on an old accordion and see how strong those ceiling joists really are.
